Charlie McMullen Mile

There are only two distances that are widely recognized among the general non-running public: the mile and the marathon. Of the two, the mile is the only for which the non-runner can usually distinguish a good from a not-so-good time, thanks to the "gym class mile" phenomenon (where/when did that start?) and the Holy four minute "barrier". So, when my roommate's friend learns I'm a distance runner, he asks, "How fast can you run a mile?" I say, "I'll tell you tomorrow."

I honestly cannot remember the last time I raced a proper mile. In college it was the 1500 meter run and I rarely did that distance. Converting from my very best 1500 meter time, I should be able to run just under 4:20 for the mile. I seeded myself in the race at 4:30.

At the Spencerport High School track, the weather is muggy. The breeze that wafts through is a welcome relief. I'm just glad the sun isn't out making things worse, though I'm worried that I'm going to get sun burned through the clouds (yes that does happen).

It's nothing but miles all morning at the meet, sections divided by time. I arrived early and gave a cheer per lap for the runners in the other sections. I also did a short warm up before switching into spikes to run around the track in them to remind my legs what spikes feel like. The last thing I want is to walk away from the meet with the feeling of an acorn lodged in each calf.

I met another guy in the Open Elite mile section, Dan Serianni. I think I faked him out a bit when I went running around on the track in my spikes. This was at least 45 min before the race. He comes out on the track as if to do a warm up and then sees me get off the track and start to remove my spikes. Nope, I had to tell him, we don't run until 12:45, I just needed to reacquaint my legs with spikes.

Dan tells me he is hoping to run low 4:20's. Jeff Beck tells me we will have some fast people to pace us through 4:15. Last year's results confirm that such speeds could very well be present.

Literally minutes before the Elite Open race, the skies open up and fat drenching drops of rain pound the track. The announcer says something about delaying the race, but most of us don't want that. We'd rather run. We may have shouted down some dissenting opinion, but I don't regret it. Water is my element. If I was ever given an elemental superpower, it would be pouring, pounding, relentless rain. While I am selecting superpowers, I'd also pick up some flag-snapping wind and forked lightning, but luckily those elements held off for the most part this day.

It is just one of many short, intense, rolling, summer storms. When the gun goes off I'm not even aware if it is still raining or not. We start too close together on the starting line. I thought about asking the guys I'm rubbing elbows with how fast they plan on running and if they wouldn't mind getting behind me, but I couldn't make it sound not-arrogant in my head so we run and push off the line and almost immediately I've got my hand on the guy in front of me, in the small of his back, pushing him forward. Look, you've got to speed up or move into an outer lane because you sure as hell are not making me drop speed. I think the guy got pinballed around a bit. He kept falling back towards me. I got a nice kick in the shin that turned into a discolored bump. I kept pushing him forward. Meanwhile, the guy on my left sounds like he's trying to end a bar fight before it gets started, Easy guys. Easy. Take it easy. I'm chill. It's not personal. These things happen.

Things settle on the backstretch. I'm in something like seventh, give or take. We clip through lap one in 66 seconds. That's perfect for me.

In the second lap I pass one or two people. Someone passes me. Out front someone is pushing the pace, but then they drift back amongst the group. It's a blur. I don't hear my time on the second lap. I'm not even aware if they are playing music over the loud speakers, which they were doing for some other races. I thought it would be annoying in my own race, but it's beyond the scope of my awareness.

As I'm rounding the turn between 500 and 600 meters remaining, I accelerate and pass the guy in third. I'm feeling great. No problems. All systems green. I hold the accelerated pace and pass Jeff Beck on the homestretch just before the gun lap.

Sam Mackenzie has put a small gap on the rest of the pack. I've got one lap to catch him. I'm holding pace for the time being. It's the fastest pace I've run yet in the race, but I've got some reserves and I want to keep them in the wings, ready to deploy. With 200 meters remaining I've worn down Mackenzie's lead, but there is still a gap. I'm not right on his shoulder and I'm thinking, oh, it's ok. I'll wait for the final 100. Deja Vu. What am I thinking? I'm not making this mistake again. I kick hard at 200 meters.

I catch Sam on the homestretch. I'm throwing everything I've got down into the track. I want to pass with confidence-wilting speed, but I don't have that much of a kick and Sam is moving fast, so I pass him real slowly. The track, the stands, the spectators are flying by, but from my frame of reference Sam is moving back slowly. It feels so unnatural to be running at top speed and, oh, look, there's this other object floating by like a boat nudged by a breeze.

There's two sets of cones near the finish and I don't know, so I run on through both of them. First place. 4:20.47 is most certainly a personal best for a real and true mile. It's raining again afterwords and I feel good. I'm breathing big whale breaths. I probably feel good because the air is cool and all that wicked pollen has been flushed. It is a good day.

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